“Perhaps,” the big girl added, after a brief silence, “that is why America is such a glorious place to live.”
“But did you not endeavor to make a call at this strange home?” asked Jeanne.
“I did. Little good it did me! I knocked three times at the door. There was no answer. It was growing dark, but no light shone from those porthole windows. So all I could do was to retrace my steps.
“I had gone not a dozen paces when I caught the sound of a half suppressed laugh. I wheeled about, but saw no one. Now, what do you make of that?”
“It’s a sweet and jolly mystery,” said Jeanne. “We shall solve it, you and I.”
And in dreaming of this new and apparently harmless adventure, the little French girl’s troubles were, for the time being at least, forgotten. She slept soundly that night and all her dreams were dreams of peace.
But to-morrow was another day.
CHAPTER IX
CAUGHT IN THE ACT
And on that new day, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds after a storm, there came to Jeanne an hour of speechless joy.
Having exercised as ever her gift of friendship to all mankind, she was able, through her acquaintance with the watchman, to enter the opera house when she chose. There was only one drawback to this; she must enter always as Pierre and never as Petite Jeanne.